


Just hold me

by StormXPadme



Series: "Tales Untold" & "Tales Beyond": (Don't) Need-to-know [5]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Eating Disorders, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Age, Hithlum, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, M/M, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:27:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24944614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StormXPadme/pseuds/StormXPadme
Summary: As Maitimo's recovery from Angband is almost complete, it will soon be time for him to go home. Neither Findekáno nor him are ready for it.***While this oneshot is part of my main verse, it's not necessary to know any of the other parts to understand it.
Relationships: Fingon | Findekáno/Maedhros | Maitimo
Series: "Tales Untold" & "Tales Beyond": (Don't) Need-to-know [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2125545
Comments: 2
Kudos: 28





	Just hold me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mallornblossom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mallornblossom/gifts).



> Created out of a tumblr meme of dialogue writing prompts by mallornblossom; prompt: "If I wanted loneliness, I’d choose to go."

“If I wanted loneliness, I’d choose to go. Finno. _Stop. Avoiding. Me_.”

There’s no bite to Maitimo’s carefully worded remark when it finally breaks the silence. Weariness, of the whole situation, slurs his speech, but not tiredness. While the brilliant silver of his eyes is still darkened by memory and doubt about the sheer necessity of his existence, they’ve been free of fever for a while. The healers would like to see a little more meat on his bones before he considers traveling; but Findekáno who has spent the last six months blackmailing his husband into taking in at least basic nutrition, knows, that’s not going to be a victory achieved anytime soon.

Maitimo is doing as well as can be expected after three decades of torture, and now home is calling for him.

Someone has talked. Findekáno still doesn’t know who, and it’s probably better that way, or the next kinslaying might _not_ be an accident. Especially since he can’t rule out that it was his own brother being responsible for Macalaurë’s host almost marching right into their house to allegedly free their long lost brother. An unpleasant encounter stopped just in time by Maitimo’s first and only letter home, as far as they know.

Their estranged kin is not happy. That, Findekáno can live with. Most of the time, his husband is the only one of that bunch he doesn’t feel like strangling.

But _Maitimo_ is not happy, and _that’s_ his problem. As much as he hates it to let his lover out of sight after bringing him back from the almost-dead, Maitimo has duties, and a family, and he needs to dedicate at least some time to both.

So Findekáno has been trying to spend less time than usual in his husband’s chambers in the last days, trying to ease them both into the imminent farewell. Only now when he sees Maitimo’s not reproachful but hurt expression, it dawns on him, that was the wrong approach. _Again_. Since Angband, much of their relationship feels like finding their way through a labyrinth of razor sharp icicles, in the darkness before the moon and the sun.

Findekáno wants only what’s best for Maitimo but that’s just so damn _difficult_ when no one knows what that is, least of all Maitimo himself.

“Don’t you want to see your people, mîl?”

“If they saw _me_ now, it wouldn’t do anyone good.” The fingertips of Maitimo’s remaining hand ghost over the scar tissue almost splitting his face in half. It’s been closed for a while now, but the angry red keeps refusing to turn into a paler, less conspicuous shade. And that’s before one notices, Maitimo is hardly more than skin and bones, still, or the handicap he’s started trying to hide by resting his too-soon ending lower arm between the buttons of his tunic.

Maybe he’s right. His people would be scared, seeing him like this. Maitimo is the perfect image of Fëanáro’s failed quests, and the last, their kin needs right now is more instability. He can’t hide here forever, but the message that he’s alive should at least keep the peace in that other dwelling for another while.

There’s still those who are supposed to love him either way, though.

“What about your brothers? They could visit. Ada will ensure their safety here.”

“But I cannot ensure yours as long as I can’t even lift a sword. You don’t know them, Finno. Not anymore. Not after ada’s death.”

Maitimo turns away from him again to look outside, to the first falling white flakes, a sight, Findekáno can’t find half as much peace and quiet in, naturally. “It’s not them I’m missing.”

Findekáno wants to ask, but he’s not sure, he can handle the answer.

So he overcomes his reluctance instead and finally closes the door that he’s meant to flee through earlier when he realized, his husband was present. He comes to stand behind him, wrapping his arms around Maitimo’s too narrow waist. The stiff leather of his brace makes it hard to bury his face against his back like he used to, so he just lightly rests his forehead against his healthy shoulder blade, with Maitimo’s still so short red hair tickling him as he seeks out his touch through the thin silk, hears the throb of the heart that almost gave out on him so many times during Maitimo’s healing. Findekáno tries to let the closeness soothe away the fears the same way, his lover’s taller shape blocks out the snow, in vain.

“I wish I could be all that you lost for you. I wish I could be _enough_.”

He will never be, not as long as the cursed oath remains the last, ever-present wall of doom between them. It’s selfish and irresponsible, but Findekáno is relieved that Maitimo isn’t leaving, not yet, as nothing good will come from that surely.

Maybe letting him feel that, assuring him that here, he’ll always have a home, is all he can really do for him right now.

Maitimo’s hand closes around his, rubbing the always too cool air of the room out of them. A blaze of red and gold gentle penetrates Findekáno‘s anxious, worried thoughts and wraps around his mind like a blanket of most precious fur.

_You’re here, that’s more than enough._

Findekáno is not sure if he heard it with his ears or with his mind, but the iron fist eases its grip around his heart a little. They’re still tiptoeing, but they’re getting better, every day.

“I need to write them back. It’s been a month,” Maitimo suddenly says when Findekáno already considered the subject closed, and now there’s mostly frustration and deeply-rooted hate on everyone who wronged him in Morgoth’s fortress left in his still too deep, too quiet voice. “But …”

Findekáno nods in such a way that he’ll feel it.

The last time took three days and a lot of healing sessions in between. Maitimo’s left hand just isn’t used to doing the job of the right yet.

That, at least, Findekáno can do.

“Just tell me what you want to say. I’ll write it for you.”

Maitimo's embrace finally has lost the last tension, and his kiss is sweet, grateful. “As long as you promise, you won’t hide any insults or bad jokes in that letter behind my back …”

“No promises.” Findekáno stretches his neck to kiss the next annoyed pout of Maitimo’s lips. “I write. You eat. Deal? Dessert in bed, afterwards, when we’ve both been good,” he adds before Matimo can protest.

His husband rolls his eyes at him dramatically but finally gives up his place by the window to follow him to the palace kitchen.

As long as they still can, they need to make the best of every evening.

**Author's Note:**

> * mîl = love  
> * Ada = father


End file.
